


Microscope

by FizzyOrange



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, M/M, Oliver Finds Out, Oliver realises some things he really wishes he hadn’t, This is what too much thinking will do to you kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FizzyOrange/pseuds/FizzyOrange
Summary: “The thing is he’d never actually seen Connor drunk before. Of course not, Connor was a substance abuser and him drinking anything, especially to this extent, would have meant relapse and Oliver would’ve had to try and force him to go to all those rehab centres all over again. So he never had a clue what ‘type’ of drunk he was. But now he was seeing it, and now he finally knew how Connor acted when intoxicated.He was sarky and angry as always of course, that never seemed to leave him no matter the situation, the constant vibe you got from him that he was one step ahead, unshakable, but that also simultaneously if you knew him well (which Oliver had at least believed he had), that he was one wrong word away from totally breaking apart. That never left either. But, when filled to the brim with alcohol and the lack of impulse control and so many secrets...Connor was a truthful drunk.”OROliver looks at their relationship under a microscope and ends up burning a few ants.





	Microscope

Oliver Hampton finally made his descent into hell with just a simple sentence.

_“Hey, do you think it’s a good idea for you to be getting wasted?”_

Of course, looking back, he should’ve known, should’ve realised he was deeper into the pit than he could’ve ever realised, should’ve felt the flames that were already licking at his ankles. Flames that had only been increasing in heat and ferocity the longer he’d worked for Annalise, the longer he’d dated Connor.

But Oliver had mistaken that burn for thrill, and how he’d craved to feel his blood boil with unknown adventure and possible danger again and again.

 _“Yeah, why, you have a problem with it?”_ Connor had goaded.

And really, it all came down to Connor didn’t it? Because there he was, aching for his druggie ex-boyfriend back. Still, after all the shaming and all the lies he knew the guy was keeping to supposedly ‘protect’ him, he’d _still_ wanted to smack the drink out of his hand, to kiss the stupidly smart idiot, to scream at him, to tell him that it shouldn’t have to be his job, _his job,_ to make sure he stayed on the damn wagon. They weren’t dating anymore, didn’t even live in the same apartment, hell Connor kept implying that they weren’t even friends. Yet, he could only recall what his lover had said only days after turning up on his doorstep, at six in the goddamn morning, a total reck, pacing and rambling and in the midst of a panic attack.

_“Look, if you kick me out right now, I can’t guarantee that I’m not gonna go straight to a dealer and buy an eight ball.”_

In what at the time looked like a shining moment of honesty that had finally made the perfect, unstoppable and unbreakable Connor Walsh seem endearing and really human to Oliver, what looked like a clear sign that this boy was ready to get help? More specifically: a sign he was willing to really let Oliver in (in more than just a sexual way)?

_“No, not for me, but...I vaguely remember you showing up at my doorstep, messed up the night of the bonfire, with a substance abuse problem.”_

Now just screamed blackmail, a red flag from the very beginning, lies from the very beginning, because Connor was about to say...about to finally admit...

_“You’re cute.”_

And just like that all the blaring warning signs went off in Oliver’s stupid, too trusting, naive, hacker head.

The thing is, he’d never actually seen Connor drunk before. Of course not, Connor was a substance abuser and him drinking anything, especially to this extent, would have meant relapse and Oliver would’ve had to try and force him to go to all those rehab centres all over again. So he never had a clue what ‘type’ of drunk he was. But now he was seeing it, and now he finally knew how Connor acted when intoxicated.

He was sarky and angry as always of course, that never seemed to leave him no matter the situation, the constant vibe you got from him that he was one step ahead, unshakable, but that also simultaneously if you knew him well (which Oliver had at least believed he had), that he was one wrong word away from totally breaking apart. That never left either. But, when filled to the brim with alcohol _and_ the lack of an impulse control _and_ so many secrets...

Connor was a truthful drunk.

Snarky, superior, angry, tired and truthful.

And, oh boy, was Oliver about to get a truck load of truth.

He’d known Connor was keeping secrets from him, because Connor had actually bothered to inform him of that fact.

_“What?”_

But Oliver, the village idiot and the groups ex machia man, had still been totally blindsided by this.

_“That you bought that.”_

Though he’d had his fair amount of suspicions, that this apparent drug addict hadn’t shown even one symptom of withdrawal since that night. He’d assumed Connor was just a really good faker. Or purposefully trying to hide it from him. Or even secretly back on the Adderall. Because otherwise it didn’t make any sense.

Because that meant Connors big confession, his baggage, the thing he’d often emotionally manipulated Oliver with, was a lie. Something he’d lost sleep over, had fought tooth and nail to convince Connor to get help for, was all a fabrication. Which couldn’t be possible. It could not. Because what would be the point? How could Connor possibly benefit from it? Why tell a lie that incriminates yourself that badly? Because what could you possibly be hiding that’s worse than that?

Because then...that night with a cracked and fractured and wrecked Connor at his doorstep...what had that really been about?

_“What is that supposed to mean?”_

Connor only chucked darkly, and the sound made his stomach churn in a sick way. That wasn’t the laugh of someone nervous, or someone suddenly overcome with hysteria and out of control, that could be argued away with his high pressure job and current intoxication levels. It was hysterical, sure, but in a controlled, almost experienced way, that raised not only way too many questions but also the goosebumps on Oliver’s skin. This was a man who was used to controlling and hiding his mania. And for all his goodnatured, foolishly trusting self tried, he had the feeling he couldn’t blame that on the alcohol.

Or maybe he was reading into it too much, and finally becoming as paranoid as Connor himself. God knows if he knew anymore.

 _“I wasn’t high Ollie, I was traumatised.”_ His drunk, Not-So-Druggie, Ex-Boyfriend leered at him.

Then he let out one more perverse giggle, and walked away.

Oliver had wanted to call out, ‘Traumatised by what!?’ Or even better ‘Shut the fuck up!’

Because this was too much information. Too much information that was too easy to put together with that big brain of his. The same brain that was always getting him into trouble, after all, it was what got Connor interested in him in the first place, and now his nosey, too big, idiotic brain was already filling in all the blanks putting the pieces together. And honestly with where his mind was going? He just wanted to stop thinking. Or better yet, for Connor to come back and rescind all the life altering information he’d just handed him on a silver platter.

He was going to confront him the next day when the booze wore off, he really was.

And then the fire happened.

—

He and Connor weren’t in a healthy relationship. Oliver had known that for a while.

So, it had frustrated him when all their friends had at least at some point silently judged him for ending it.

Don’t get him wrong, he knew that they were Connors friends first and then his. He also got that they fully supported him in his decision, wanted to help him find dates, were totally on his side. But don’t think he didn’t notice the subtle nudges and the excitement they’d exhibited when he even mentioned getting back with Connor. That he hadn’t noticed Asher trying to convince his ex to stop Oliver flirting with another guy. Despite his numerous self-esteem issues, he liked to believe that he wasn’t that thick. It was clear in Oliver’s eyes what they wanted from him, and what they thought was best.

But Oliver knew that was bullshit because they hadn’t seen what Connor was becoming.

See, healthy, toxic and, dare he say it, abusive relationships came in many forms. And while he wouldn’t quite reach to say that in the time they were together either of them were outright or purposely abusive to each other. Would he be willing to say they were toxic? Yes. Yes, he would and he reluctantly stands by that fact.

He was marginally pissed at his newest and closest ever set of friends, who hadn’t actually let him into their inner circle yet, because they didn’t know what Oliver and Connors relationship was like at its lowest moments.

_“I hurt you, and I hate myself for that.” Connor begins._

_Oliver stops cutting vegetables and puts the knife down, and he looks up at Connor, slightly surprised. Considering the last time the law student had really hurt his feelings like this, he’d been in complete denial of how hurtful his actions were to him. ‘We never said we were exclusive’-his ass. This couldn’t look like more of a juxtaposition in reaction. One extreme to the other, as it always seems to be with Connor Walsh. He’s gone from Mr. ‘I don’t do boyfriends’ to begging Oliver not to make him leave, to moving in without warning. Speaking of which, was that normal either?_

_“The only way I see us getting through this is if you hurt me back.”_

_He’s not so certain about that, too. Sure, Oliver is upset, downright angry even, that he’s told them, his not-friends that apparently know all the really “bad stuff” about each other, about him being positive. Without his permission. Which was shitty, ‘cause that’s not his-he refuses to call it “secret”-to tell. But...as upset as he was, he was already beginning to forgive him. It wasn’t like he was going to let this one mistake ruin their entire relationship. He cared too deeply for Connor than that._

_“It’s what I deserve, Oliver.”_

_Well, if he said so. Still, it seemed a little harsh._

_“Do it. Hurt me. I can take it.”_

_Maybe the sudden change in his personality was due to the now lack of drugs he was taking? Before, all that confidence and selfishness and being that self-obsessed and absorbed was due to whatever he was on, and being that allergic and afraid of attachment must’ve been part of that, as well, somehow, and now that he’s free he’s clinging to the nearest open arms he can find? Could that possibly explain his relatively drastic change in character? It’s plausible, he guesses._

_“It’s my fault.”_

_While a part of him wants to agree, blame it all on Connor. He knows that this is his fault, and that no matter how sad he’d been, he should’ve always worn protection. That wasn’t Connor’s fault, that was his for being a giant dumbass and with his usual spell of luck he’d paid for it heavily. The same part of him that blames his boyfriend is also the part that is slightly infuriated that Connors slept with an uncountable amount of guys, often without protection, and been totally fine the lucky bastard. While he’d made one bad decision. But still, he knew that no matter the circumstances, he had to take responsibility here. And on the topic of self analysis? Oliver’s pretty sure most couples don’t settle conflict using the old ‘eye for an eye’ method, but on the other hand, it’s not like he’s been in enough relationships to really know._

_He wonders, too, if it’s normal for people to be so devastated and so ready, and almost happy to blame themselves at the drop of a hat. Then again, he supposes that Connor really is in the wrong here for telling the others things he shouldn’t, and that recurring part of him is enjoying a small dosage of retribution and validation, and really, a bit of self awareness and personal punishment is more character development than anything with Connor Walsh._ Someone has to knock down my “self-absorbed pretty boy” of a boyfriend down a peg, _he jokes internally._

 _But really, he thinks as Connor walks away, he’s genuinely shocked, feelings validated or not, that the other man is taking it this hard, it’s Oliver’s mistake, not his, why does he feel_ so guilty _about this? He wants to ask him, but he’s already gone._

Of course Oliver forgives him for blabbing to his friends after a while, and he never did blame him for possibly causing his HIV diagnosis.

But he never does find out if Connor ever forgives himself.

However, no matter how low the moment, Oliver had never really felt nervous that Connor would leave. His normal level of insecurity and anxiety aside of course, Oliver just couldn’t see it happening, especially the more and more time they spent together.

It was hard to explain, but, at least at first, he’d always got the impression that Connor really needed him. In the beginning he’d suspected it was only for a reliable bone session twice a day and his hacking prowess, and Oliver had been fine to just let it be like that for a while. Feeling needed and wanted, was a thrilling and rare experience for him that he just needed to grab on tight to and not let go of. Even more thrilling when added onto the illegal and finally exciting work he got to do for Connor, and just...Connor himself. This mysterious, secretive, suave Middleton boy with a soft side, who made Oliver feel really really special for the first time in his life.

That was enough for Oliver. He knew it shouldn’t be, that it wasn’t healthy or whatever, but he was content. Happy, even.

Then it came apparent that that wasn’t just it, that Connor in fact, really needed Oliver to be around him. Almost using him completely for emotional stability, like Oliver was his last lifeline, his rubber ring, that without which he’d drown. At points it seemed as if Connor was relying on him to get up out of bed in the morning. And Oliver just let it spiral. He watched as he became not only a want, not only a need, but an obsession to him. Addictive enough to combat even Connors past alleged drug issues, with almost worse withdrawal symptoms.

He watched as Connor put him more and more on this pedestal, as he became the centre of all things good in the adolescents life. And for what? So he could finally feel needed? So he could enjoy that “thrill”, that excitement that always just seemed to be surrounding Connor, following him around with a subtle tonal hint of cool mystery and subdued darkness?

It finally reached its peak when Oliver got too sick on his own high, nothing to do with the drugs his boyfriend was supposed to be taking, and at the height of his power of his new freedom and control, deleted Connors Stanford acceptance letter.

Why? Well, because Connor going all the way to Stanford totally screwed up his plans. Because he’d follow Connor anywhere if he really had to. Because during becoming Icarus and flying too high for his wax wings to handle, he’d fallen for the sun he didn’t even know was melting him yet. And maybe it wasn’t in the obsessive do or die way Connor did, not yet, but he loved him. He really truly did. So, in his mind, he could just do this one terrible thing for an amazing future, and once his stupid, reckless impulsive, boyfriend sat down and thought about it and finally realised he was right, and that moving that far away from literally everyone close to them was a horrible idea, and agreed, everything would be sunshine and daises, they’d make a million babies, be badasses solving cases and die old and grey together.

Another part of him also wanted to do it, because it showed he had the ability to be a bad, edgy person. And, wow, he’d never thought he’d get to a point in his life in which he’d want that to be not only a quality he possessed but one he shows to other people for credit. But if it was the only way to stop Connor and Annalise and the rest of them holding back around him and finally letting him into their sacred inner circle. What could really be the harm?

He just didn’t want to lose the sudden control he’d gotten in his life, and he knew it was wrong and fucked up but he needed Connor too, you know? And he didn’t get to make all their decisions for them, and really he’d never find out. So it was all fine. He could handle this.

Now he had secrets too.

Everything started crashing down the minute he admitted to it though. The guilt and the lies had just been eating away at him for days and he was finding it hard to function around Connor, it seemed he couldn’t do anything without thinking about it, not look him in the eye when they were having sex, not even glance at him when they were making breakfast in the mornings or when Connor made them drinks. All of this, he could tell Connor was noticing, and he could already see the law student starting to blame himself, searching for a reason why and upping his boyfriend game to max. Trying to make up for whatever non existent thing he thinks he’s done.

And when that doesn’t seem to work he just becomes more quiet, and tame. A shell of the man Oliver had known the first few weeks of their relationship, before Connor had shown up at his doorstep in need of dire repair. The contrast was so stark it stunned Oliver just to compare the two people. It was like he was holding his breath for the penny to drop, and Oliver to explain what was happening and how he could fix it.

But Oliver never says anything to him. He’s scared he never would have.

Truthfully, that’s not the reason he admits his crime. Even though he can’t stand the guilty look in Connors eyes. A look he sees far too often, when Connor thinks he’s not looking, and it’s a look that hurts a thousand times worse when he knows it’s been caused by him.

But he doesn’t tell him. He just lies more.

He admits to his crime to basically present to Annalise that he’s not this naive, cinnamon roll everyone treats him like. That he’s mature too. That he’s ready for the truth and he’s prepared to do bad things for this job he so desperately wants.

And maybe worst of all? It works. And he’s so happy. But at the same time he’s not because this was everything Connor stood against and a sick new part of him he’d never felt before was revelling in the feeling of freedom. Of acceptance. And he’s secretly scared, even though he’d never admit that to himself. Let alone Connor.

He never wants to tell Connor any of this.

The job. The letter. Annalise. He prays he never finds out, even though he knows that’s a lost cause. He’d be working with him for god sakes.

So, he keeps avoiding telling him anything about his recruitment, by, of course, lying some more—and god, he thinks one night as he’s trying to sleep, how does Connor do this? Keeping all these secrets all the time? The lies are so heavy and he can physically feel them dragging him _down_. And he accepts then and there he’ll never really understand.

But of course, as it inevitably always would, the whole thing comes out. Connor and Annalise have their secret sacred magical circle cult thing on and she tells him everything. Which Oliver did expect.

So, Connor confronts him, and honestly confront is too strong a word, more like regretfully admits to Oliver, that he knows.

Not only about the job, which he says he’s happy about— which, okay bullshit. Connor had been going on about how much he loathed that idea for months. But about Stanford, too.

And that’s when he knows it’s gone too far and he’s soared to high and Connor has finally spiralled too low.

Because Oliver, has straight up not only deleted his boyfriends acceptance email, but rerouted the rest of the follow ups to himself and took and declined any phone calls the university made. Hacked into Stanford’s system itself, to do so.

All very illegal stuff, by the way.

And any second he expects the guilty look in Connor’s eyes to just dissipate. To change to anger. To righteous fury. To scream at him, ask him how? Could he do this to him? Why?

To just stop looking down at the damn counter like a lost puppy, that’s still loyal to the hand that just slapped it.

And there is a second, after Oliver confirms his crime, pleads guilty, in which the guilt momentarily evaporates from Connor’s eyes, and is replaced by nothing but an empty look of resignation. Which might be worse. Hell if he can tell. But it’s only replaced again, with even more guilt than Oliver’s ever seen before in his eyes. It’s almost painful to look at. Like you can feel the weight of a planet heavy burden his irises are carrying alone.

And then, he apologises.

_He apologies._

_Connor,_ is _apologetic,_ for _Oliver_ deleting the email and not...not ‘listening to him’ and ‘taking his thoughts into account’.

What. The. Fuck.

Now Oliver, he may not be a couples councillor or a psychiatrist or anything even remotely close to those fields. But he knows, this, _that,_ is not healthy.

Not one fucking bit.

And Connor can’t even see it, he’s so far gone.

He shouldn’t get to do something that reprehensible, and then have Connor begging for his forgiveness for whatever he did wrong to make him act out like that, because he just needs him that much. Because, God, if Connors willing to let that slide without so much as a blink of an eye and basically getting down on his knees for Ollie to forget about it, for them to just move on, then how far would Oliver have to go before there’s any real repercussions. Just how much power does he have here? Because he’s decided, here and now, he doesn’t want any of it. Doesn’t want to know if left unchecked what that level of control would really do to him.

He’s already gone this far.

And doesn’t that thought just send a shiver down his spine. He really doesn’t like who he’s becoming, but he doesn’t think he really wants to stop either. Which just makes his eyes fill even more and spins his head in confusion. He’s so goddamn confused.

Because right now, Connor should be screaming for them to break up. That’s what any normal person in any normal relationship would do. But he’s not going to. And clearly he never is. So that just means, if Oliver really loves him, he’s got to do this for him, has to take the step his addict of a boyfriend can’t, he’s got to...

_“I think...we should break up.”_

And even then, there’s no real anger or spite in his gaze. Just more resignation, sadness, a helping of confusion and an unimaginable amount of guilt.

But as Connor turns away, Oliver can tell his mind is screaming so loud with words unsaid that he can physically hear what his now ex’s body language and eyes are saying:

_‘I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this.’_

Because Connors biggest fear has come true.

Because the reason Oliver knew Connor always kept him, his own Icarus, at an arms length away, safe from burning rays of the sun, which in this analogy also happens to be Connor himself. Is because that’s how Connor views himself. A force that only melts the good things around him.

Because Connor thinks he’s ruined him. That’s more than obvious now. Thinks he tainted him from the inside out, like a reverse parasite that worms it’s way into its victims heart, and infects them in the process. Drags them down under into the flames. Burns them gently with care until their no longer recognisable to the person they used to be. Giving the victim a twisted version of everything it once was, it’s whole self until there’s nothing left of it.

And while Connor starts to walk away, to go pack, to hide, or maybe just to lock himself in the bathroom and have another fucking panic attack that he’ll will have to pretend he can’t hear but does. Oliver wants to reach out to him, take it all back maybe, or at least convince him that it wasn’t his fault, that this was his decision and his decision alone, that Connor didn’t scorch and ruin him.

But then he takes a look at himself, at what he’s become in the two short years by Connors side. His arm drops. And his mouth dries as he realises. He can’t even convince himself.

And he refuses to lie anymore.

—

Days later he wonders how Connor had done it all these years.

Weeks later he decides. He never wants to know.

—

Wes is dead.

Wes is dead and gone, and Laurel is broken, Michaela is fighting, Asher is devastated, Frank is missing in action and Bonnie is scared. Annalise is arrested. And yet Oliver... Oliver is very distracted.

Because his boyfriend, technically his ex but after this who even cares anymore, who he’s only just begun recovering from thinking was dead, is acting strange. Because instead of worrying like Connor does, he’s instead attacking the two, and in extension three, people currently most vulnerable and hurt. Wes, Annalise and Laurel.

Connor is acting stupid.

And from the look of the cuts and bruises he sees on his boyfriends face when he shows up at Oliver’s doorstep — deja vus a bitch right? — he looks past ‘on edge’, and more like he’s already jumped off the cliff.

Connor is hysterical.

So this is the absolute worst timing to do this, it is, Oliver knows that. But he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what Connor had let loose at that celebration party since he said it, and when he got sent back home, and there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to sleep, he decided to finally put his mind at rest.

Fat lot of good that did him.

Because all he found out was that the bonfire, the night Connor had been “traumatised” enough to have a mental breakdown at his doorstep, was just a day before Sam Keating, Annalise’s husband, was reported missing. And that’s only gotta be like a week and a half before his remains were found _chopped up_ and _charred_ in a landfill.

Add that to the group always being so tightly knitted, secretive and suspicious. The already hilariously heinous illegal acts they constantly ask him to commit like they’re nothing. It...doesn’t look good.

Sure, maybe where his mind is going could be considered a reach. But it’s not. He knows somewhere deep in his gut. It’s not.

_“I might be going to jail.”_

Oliver is really not looking forward to this. In fact, he’s trembling before he even turns around and says:

“The...night of the bonfire, when you were supposedly traumatised?”

Connors head snaps right up to look at him dead in the eyes, but not in a way that’s ordering him stop, not even in a begging desperate way. His eyes almost widen like he’s a kid on Christmas Day finally about to open his present after waiting all goddam year for it.

And, oh god, this was clearly such a bad time.

Because Oliver can physically see the hysteria building behind his pupils, how their dilating, how his throats swallowing perverse laughter, like this whole horror show is hilarious, like his whole life is the funniest joke he’s ever heard, how his smirk, once charming and captivating, has turned sickly and twisted. It makes Oliver’s stomach churn.

But his eyes only say one thing to him, _I dare you._

And Oliver knows he needs to stop right now, not only because once he’s heard this, he’s apart of it too and there’s no backing out, but because what he’s about to say is almost definitely going to break whatever already failing calm facade of stability Connors got going on right now. He clearly needs comfort, clearly came here, for comfort, and not an interrogation. So really, Oliver should shut his big mouth, turn off his stupid too big idiotic brain, and just, stop this. Not do this. Right now at least.

And yet, he does.

He just _needs_ to know.

“It was only the day before Sam Keating went missing right?

He can see Connors eyes start to twitch, his face begin to break, and most of his sark, superiority and in-shakiblity, shakes, like a damn magnitude 9.5 earthquake right in front of him.

“Spit it out then!” Connor, ironically, spits at him suddenly, his voice breaking just as much as his pretence.

But Oliver, fuck, Oliver is _scared._ And hell if you can blame him because the boy he’s been sleeping with, next to, for the past two years could be a killer. Is likely a killer. And it’s not that he’s frightened of Connor exactly, or anything he could do to hurt him it’s just...just that...

He doesn’t know! Alright? He only knows he’s shaking as badly as his potentially murderous boyfriend now. Which should be a reassuring sign of how not dangerous he is, but really really isn’t.

But Connor sure as hell notices the weakness. And like any good lawyer, he pounces on it.

“You’re scared, huh? Scared that I did it? Scared that it was me who killed him? Burned him? Chopped him up into fun little bite sized pieces? Terrified of what you got yourself roped into? What you basically _demanded_ to get roped into?” He laughs, tears visible in his eyes. “Your terrified right?”

For a moment, anger fills Oliver’s veins alongside the fear.

“Of course I am Connor! _Of course,_ I’m absolutely petrified of-of—”

He snorts, “Me, right?”

“No! I mean, yes. I mean— Connor _please,_ I—”

“ _What!?_ What do you want, Oliver? What could you possibly want me to say.”

And if Oliver wasn’t distracted by how unrecognisably angry the almost-certainly-a-murderer sounded, he would’ve noticed how resigned he sounded too.

“I just want to know the truth!” Oliver practically begs, and he’s sure he can feel tears sliding down his face.

That causes a pause, and Connor looks down at his feet. But he never stops smiling and his voice is still loudly hushed and crazed.

“The truth, huh? Well how much detail do you want _officer?_ How may I be of service?” He mocks.

Oliver tries to interrupt but Connor just keeps steamrolling.

“Would you like the whole story or will just that part I played do for you? You wanna know what it feels like to hack away at a mans body with a tool? To swing _again_ and _again_ until there’s a snap so loud it wakes you up nights, years, probably decades later? Or maybe just the description of burning flesh is enough to satisfy you. Then again, you probably smelt that when I turned up at your apartment barley an hour later.”

And Olivers mouth somehow goes even drier than it already is. Because that description was just too graphic, so unnecessarily vivid in his mind that he actually feels a gag forming in the back of his throat just picturing his boyfriend, _his boyfriend,_ doing that. Those hellish things.

But he has to keep pushing because he may never have another shot at this. At the truth.

“Who—” he stutters, and fuck, it pains him to remember when he used to speak like this to Connor all the time, tripping over his words to impress the impossibly hot boy, who for some reason, took a liking to him. When he’d been nervous. Before he’d become confident around Connor, and then too confident, and then, now, so so scared. The wax wings had well and truly melted now. And how far they’d fallen.

“Who k-killed h-him?”

Connor finally lifts his head back up, and looks him in the eyes again.

“You mean which one of us is actually, technically a murderer?”

Oliver reluctantly nods, and the motion seems to make the other mans sickening smirk grow wider. He is never going to be able to forget that face.

“Wes.”

And god, wouldn’t that be so easy but so wrong? To pin it all on a dead man. But there was no proof Connor was telling the truth, and Wes had never seemed like the type that was capable of...killing. Then again, he saw no reason why he’d bother lying anymore. And Connor had never seemed capable before either.

“Connor, his body isn’t even cold yet,” Oliver sighs. Still hesitant to believe, to let, what he realises is now relief, of all things, wash over him.

“Yeah, that’ll be thanks to the fire.” Is all Connor helpfully replies. And Oliver’s had enough of his attitude once and for all.

“Oh would you just—!”

“What, stop hating the guy who ruined my entire life? Nah, sorry, I know there’s a whole ‘Respect the dead’, ‘Rest In Peace’ shtick going on around here, and that’s good and all, I get it, gotta make a martyr out of someone, but you know the saying: _‘No Rest for the Wicked’._ ”

“From what I’ve heard, you had a rather substantial hand in ruining your own life Connor!” Oliver all but screams at him. Because Connor can’t do this. Can’t let his life full into shambles and blame it on everyone else. It’s not a way a person can live.

But Oliver assumes his criminal of a boyfriend is also majorly lying to himself. Because from what he’s seen, Connor really does blame himself for this. Enough so, that he believed, and probably still believes, that he never deserved Oliver. That he was too good for him no matter what. So then, no matter what, he shouldn’t let him go.

But that’s not a way a person can live either.

Connor doesn’t reply to him for a while after that.

Silence fills the room for probably minutes, potentially hours.

Until Connor says, “Are you gonna go to the police then?”

And Oliver sighs again, because he already knows he’s not. Never was. No matter what.

It’s his turn to look away when he says, “Of course I’m not.” Which for some reason causes Connor to let out a surprising strangled noise.

“Why not? You should.”

“Connor...I can’t—”

And suddenly the boy sounds as desperate as the night he turned up on Oliver’s doorstep.

“What, why? Are you concerned you’d get in trouble too? Because I’d never let that happen. You know I wouldn’t. I’d—I’d testify on the stand you knew nothing about the murder and you’d probably get a plea deal from telling them the information anyway and—”

“That doesn’t stop me from being prosecuted for all the other, many, many illegal things I did working with you.”

“It could! Or I’d say we blackmailed you, threatened you even. Say, I was abusive or that you had Stockholm Syndrome— Anything that would get you acquitted—”

“Connor...”

“—or you could just send in an anonymous tip—”

“Connor—”

“No no, a plea deal is much better, ask for immunity for any crime surrounding Annalise, that could work if—”

“Connor! I’m not going to police, okay?”

And finally, it looked as if anything remaining of the mask Connor had been wearing dropped. Shattered. Oliver really wanted to look away.

“Please, Ollie.” He begged. “Do what I never could. Let it all burn, I can’t—”

He exhales.

“I can’t live like this.”

This was too much. What could he possible say to that?

‘It’s okay’ no it wasn’t, and Oliver refused to lie anymore.

‘It will be fine, don’t worry.’ or ‘It’ll get better.’ are both things he can’t promise either.

Honestly, he needed time to think about this without the emotional baggage that was Connor Walsh weighing down upon him with every passing second. Needed to work through and process all of, well this. But...

He wasn’t sure it was a good idea to send Connor out alone.

Before he could even open his mouth to air his thoughts a suddenly scared voice spoke.

“Don’t.” Connor began. “Please, don’t make me leave. You won’t even know I’m here. Or you can hate me or—or hit me, if you want, do whatever you like to me and I won’t complain one bit I just.”

He shuddered, “I don’t think I can survive being alone right now to tell you the truth, which is what I’m doing right now. So why break the streak, right?”

And before Oliver really knows what he’s doing or the implications of it, he’s stepping forward and hugging him.

Connor practically melts into his arms and begins sobbing into his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispers into Oliver’s ear.

This didn’t mean he forgives him. Not quite. And Connor gets that. Though, he figures in the long run, he probably will, for whatever stupid, unhealthy reason, that is probably unconditional love. But it does mean he accepts him, the true Connor, past crimes and all.

He accepts Connor.

And he has a feeling that no one has done that for him in a really, really long time.

When Connor eventually stops crying, Oliver knows he’ll have to sit him down on the sofa, and ask him to tell him everything. He knows that he’ll say that he can move back in. Of course he can. At least for a while. And he knows that that ‘while’ may never end. He knows he’ll have to consider if their relationship is fixable, if even wants to fix it at all. Knows that, no matter how draining it is to him, he’s not going to be able to rest until Connor is in a stable, safer place, even if to do that he has to go through illegal and possibly unethical means. And maybe this is what he was terrified of before. But he knows, it doesn’t matter. Because he knows he loves Connor Walsh. So much. Too much to be healthy. But Oliver knows he’s already past the point of no return, and what would really be the point of pretending he’s not already too far gone with Connor.

He refuses to lie anymore.

This relationship may be the death of him. It may drag him into the deepest circle of hell and expect him to carry his broken boyfriend back out, or maybe just to let himself melt there. Warning alarms are still blaring in his mind. And he can tell that there are red flags waving left and right, but through the light of the fire, to Oliver, they just look like flags.

He decides it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s made his choice. He knows he won’t regret it.

His wings are gone. He never had a halo.

So, he doesn’t step into hell. He doesn’t fall either.

He dives.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah this was my first fanfic which I hope isn’t too obvious lmao.
> 
> I don’t feel like I’ve really done parts of this justice, especially the murder reveal section, so I’m probably going to rewrite that scene again in a different context and see if I can improve it. No guarantees though aha.
> 
> There’s also a little bit of inspiration in here from Bojack Horseman. Let me know if you caught it.
> 
> Any constructive criticism welcome!


End file.
